


The Aileron

by idcishipit



Category: Red vs. Blue, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Blood, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Swearing, Tags May Change, summary is awful
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-05-19 13:45:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14874861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idcishipit/pseuds/idcishipit
Summary: When Wash discovers that the Freelancer Fleet is working for the Empire, his only choice left is to leave with his AI and crash on an outer planet called Chorus.A Star Wars AU*currently being rewritten* 4/5/19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [In Hope's Shadow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12761319) by [ZaliaChimera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaliaChimera/pseuds/ZaliaChimera). 



> I don't own Red vs Blue or Star Wars. I did smoosh them together though and made up my own rules. ZaliaChimera's In Hope's Shadow got me thinking and this is what happened. Check out their fic!

He wills the crate to move a few centimeters right to no avail. It stubbornly stays in place, blocking the door from sliding shut. The last thing he needs is for the door to start repeatedly slamming into the thing and making enough noise for one of the pilots to investigate.

Checking that none of them are looking, he darts a hand out and tugs the handle, the weight nearly pulling his arm out of its socket.

“Son of a-”

He braces a foot against a wall panel and pulls. The crate scrapes against the grated floor. Wash pauses. When no one comes, he pulls it out of the way and the door slides shut with a click. His screwdriver head fits neatly beneath the keypad. With a yank the cover pops off and he quickly twists some wires, locking the door for a few moments.

Wash carefully tucks the wires and circuit boards into the way and settles the keypad back in place. He straightens with a sigh and brings the holowatch to his lips. Epsilon would probably have a snark about it usually, but the AI was smart enough to know when to shut up.

“Epsilon?”

“They’re all fucking blind as a Miraluka.” Before Wash can reprimand him, Epsilon continues, “You’re gonna take the elevator down to level two and take an immediate left, then you can’t blame me for any shit that happens after that.”

Wash sighs again. “Thanks.”

The elevators were usually fast but this one is running sluggishly just when he needs it. He’d only used this shaft a few times in the years he’d been with the fleet, but he was sure it was usually quicker than this.

“Dude, stop jumping around.”

He immediately stops moving, not realizing he had been bouncing on his heels. The treads on his issued boots _thump_ against the flooring.

The elevator door slides open with only a slight whoosh of air. The tube stands empty to Wash’s relief.

It closes as soon as he pressed the button. Alone in the tube makes him a bit claustrophobic as it slowly lowers to level two. Epsilon’s quiet presence only helps a little. Once again, he wishes Epsilon was like Texas. It could make this escape so much easier.

Level two, or one of the few levels with open hangers secured with shields keeping the air in and space out is practically empty.

More crates stacked near the door block his view of the opposite elevator, but only a few mouse droids skitter through the space. Wash peeks over one of the boxes marked ‘flammable’ and spots no one. He crouches down and searches his memory for Pelican V’s position.

Something nudges the back of his foot. A mouse bumps him twice before he puts out a hand and pushes it away. Security mouse or not, Wash’s fingers fumble for his boot laces and scans the little black droid for any security logos but sees only metal.

“E?”

“Just a trash bot,” he says after a moment.

“Right,” Wash picks up the droid with shaking hands and sends it the other way, where it runs into an unfilled barrel.

“Focus, Wash,” Epsilon mutters, “Just a bit further.”

“Shhh.”

Yellow paint spells out _PLV_ in front of the large ship reversed into its dock across the way. Epsilon assured him the Pelican would be in working order when they boarded it. After everything, Epsilon was the only one Wash was willing to trust, and Epsilon hadn’t given him a reason not to.

He schools his expression of one with orders to fulfil and marches across the hanger, head high. The ship looms over him. When he was younger, his father showed him how to fly a Pelican, expecting his only son to follow in his footsteps on Leonis.

He hopes he remembers enough.

Wash quickly climbs the yellow ladder connected to the cockpit. His footsteps clang around the room with every rung he touches. Cringing, he goes faster.

One of his nails break prying open the hatch pressed tightly against the metal. The seal pops. He edges the toe of his boot in the crack and pushes upward until he can squeeze in and step on the seat. He’s maneuvering to settle in when a whizzing fills the hanger.

Wash stands on the seat, holding onto the window.

“There!” Epsilon shouts from his wrist.

A mouse spins in place, whizzing quickly warbling into a high-pitch whirl causing the other mice to copy. In seconds the mice just rushing around are screaming and spinning in alarm.

Wash stares at the droids sending off signals he’s never heard them make. He was dead. They’d ice him. The others wouldn’t understand- he couldn’t explain, not this. He’d be iced and no one would know why.

“-ash! Wash! Get your shit together! We gotta go!”

With a blink, Wash drops back into the cockpit, switching on half-familiar systems. The Pelican starts to purr beneath him.

“At your twelve!” Epsilon yells, fully projected. Wash raises the landing gear.

Maintenance spills out of one of the doors in front of him, waving their arms and shouting first at the screaming mice and then him.

“Put the hatch down, you idiot!”

The ship wobbles. Landing gear away, the system starts lowering the hatch above him much, much too slowly. Soldiers and stormtroopers stream out the elevator looking from maintenance to his new dropship. Wash grabs the hatch’s handle and pulls down with all his weight.

The seal pops back in place. Oxygen flows in and blows in his ears, effectively cutting off all sound from outside the ship. He glances behind him, the ramp closed and space empty. Lighter for hyperdrive.

“Shit!”

Wash jumps at Epsilon’s yelp. Then he sees the blasters.

The red bolts don’t penetrate the metal but dropships weren’t built for battle. Both he and Epsilon agreed a dropship would be easier and safer to steal, but _apparently not_. The ship wouldn’t last long. The dashboard flashes a safety belt symbol at him.

He ignores it and pushes the thrusters forward. Vibrations set his teeth on edge as they adjust on either side. They rise higher, stormtroopers and soldiers growing a bit smaller.

Everything slows down, even the blaster bolts. Epsilon’s pixels shift before him on the dashboard. The safety belt flashes.

Freelancer was his home for the past three years. His home, his friends, his family all in one metal can in the middle of space. Could he really leave? They’d done so much together, but they also did so much to others. Those who didn’t deserve it. He had nowhere else to go.

A bolt hits too close to the seal for comfort.

He shoves the throttle forward.

Some below jump out of his way and others don’t. He feels rather than sees the belly of the ship clipping them.

“Am I clear?”

“Okay, okay, okay-”

“Epsilon!”

“Sorry! Sorry!”

_“Am I clear?”_

“Yes! Go! _Fuck!_ ” A bolt hits the rim of metal above them.

Wash steers right toward the hanger opening. He prays no blasters hit the thrusters and continues forward. Bolts shoot passed and hit the shield, ricocheting back into the hanger and off crates. One explodes beneath his left window panel and packing foams fill the air.

The Pelican picks up speed as it eats the surrounding air. Epsilon is swearing and covering his eyes with holographic hands. Wash wishes he could too.

The blue shield splits around the ship’s nose. It presses into the glass around them, close enough for Wash to see the different strands making the shield.

And then they’re out.

Pin pricks of stars and black fill his view. He would never tire of it, but now isn’t the time. He flips a switch down by his knee for lightspeed and they continue to drift. Panic speeds up his heart. He flips the switch up and down hopelessly.

“Epsilon! I need you to hop in the ship’s system and figure out why we can’t jump, now!”

He disappears without a word. The dashboard lights up blue for a millisecond before Wash forces the yoke forward again, gaining little speed. Biting out a string of curses, Wash flips more switches in vain, one playing a hologram of Figrin D’an and the Modal Nodes.

He silences the music. “Status?”

“Well, they have a lot of shit messed up in here. It doesn’t look like they had an actual mechanic look at this in fucking ever-”

“If it can jump us, I really, really don’t care,” he interrupts, monitoring for any ships following them. No dropships at least. It’d take time for any TIEs to get around the MOI.

“Not very far,” Wash can hear the frown in Epsilon’s voice. “There’s some outer planets around here. Mixed species. Humans, Sangheili, Elomin, Gamorreans, all kinds of people. I think most of them are refugee planets, honestly-”

“Pick one.”

“What?”

“Pick one. I don’t care which. If there are refugees, then there have to be ships bringing them in. Pick one with humans so we can get a ride out without too many problems.”

“But-”

“You better hurry up, TIEs are incoming,” Wash states, his voice much calmer than his pulse.

Epsilon lets out a creative curse as Wash watches the TIE Fighters swarm up like half a dozen green eyes on his screens. He pushes the yoke again to no avail.

“Steer to your southeast twenty degrees and drop or we’re going splat into the MOI. Wait- okay. Drop when I say so. If I’m right we’ll have a few seconds on them.”

“A few sec-?”

“Shut up! It’s better than nothing!”

Without another choice, Wash steers southwest to face the MOI and the eyeballs rising over its top. He swallows hard.

“I’m trusting you, E.”

“I’d be flattered if you said that with a little more confidence. Get that drop and hyperdrive ready.”

He wraps trembling fingers over the switches on either side of his knee. The TIEs grow closer and he wonders if any of his friends are going to be the one who shoots him down.

_You’re a traitor now._

“Ready?”

Wash takes a shaky breath that rattles as he lets it out. He closes his eyes for a moment and opens them only for the ships to be in range-

“Ready.”

“Three, two, one- Go!”

He floats out of his seat, scrambling for the safety belt as his stomach’s contents threaten to come out.

“Lightspeed!”

Wash manages to flip the switch, not bothering to look to see if the TIEs are passed. The stars stretch themselves out and he slams into the cockpit seat, his stomach lurching.

Epsilon is whooping through the dashboard speakers. “That was so awesome! Did you see that shit?! I am so good! Suck it, Delta!”

Wash wrestles the safety belt over his head and buckles in. It takes a moment for him to realize the pounding in his ears is his heart and not the ship shuddering out of lightspeed. 

Thousands of stars streak by him in seconds, stretched into white lines before the glass window. The first time he’d been in space he had thought the glass was going to break under the white spikes. Some of the childhood fear still lives in the back of his mind, screaming quietly that glass is not enough to keep him safe.

But the stars and planets only pass by for half a minute before the ship starts to slow and the stars shrink back to dots far in the distance, even farther compared to the earthy planet below him.

Green and blue swirling below him remind him of the pictures of Earth, humanity’s ancient origins. Clouds swirl dreamlike over the land and water. On the far east side of the planet Wash can see a hurricane making landfall.

“Chorus,” Epsilon announces, popping out of the dashboard once again. Wash spares him a glance before looking back at the planet. Moments before he had been looking at the MOI and now he sees a spinning sphere of color.

“Occupied by humans,” Epsilon continues, “Mostly. Some other species here and there. No Empire influence, yet though.”

“Yet?”

Rolling his eyes, the AI turns to Wash, “An elite soldier and AI stole a dropship from the Freelancer Fleet, you think they’re not going to follow us?”

On cue, three TIEs appear on the ship’s screen. Wash thrusts the yoke forward and dives into Chorus’s atmosphere. Flames lick the nose of the ship, marked with blaster bolt scars.

“What’s the nearest city?”

“We won’t make it.”

“What?” Wash’s voice cracks. “What do you mean?”

“We don’t have enough fuel. We’re going to have to hit an outpost.”

“Fine, where is it?”

Coordinates run across a small bar above his screen of the TIEs falling through the atmosphere with him. The dropship breaks through its first cloud, wisps attacking the windows around him. A spark of alarm shoots through him. They’re falling much too fast. He pulls back on the yoke, trying to pull up before they crash into the treetops.

They hit a patch of turbulence that Wash thinks permanently moves his stomach to somewhere new. The ship drops a few meters. A blast passes above him and he lets out a yelp. He forces the ship down into an angle towards the lush forests of the continent.

Thicker air sends a shudder through the ship and Wash’s bones and he pulls up to fly parallel to the ground. His wings line up with the horizon on his gauge. The tips of the trees reach up toward him then break apart into a lake.

Wash bites his lip and flips the engines off. Epsilon screams something as the ship’s belly hits the water and lurches them ninety degrees; water splashes against the hatch but the TIEs’s blasts steam the water where their tail had just been moments before.

He fires the engines back on with another shudder. He can feel the parts inside moving out of place. The water tries to pull them back down but he thrusts them back up with difficulty. Blasts blow pass them.

The TIEs draw closer. Wash looks over the landscape and tries to think of a plan.

He hovers the ship and lets the TIEs catch up. He tunes Epsilon’s panic out and focuses on his own. He shoots forward and tries to wrap as close as he can around a tree on the outskirts of the lake. The closest TIE tries to turn too quickly and its wing catches on a trunk. It spins like a broken top trailed by sparks. He doesn’t see it die but it disappears off his screen.

The others pull up in time to avoid following their squad mate. Wash hovers over the lake again.

“Well, it’s your turn,” Wash says desperately because they wouldn’t fall for that again.

Epsilon flickers for a moment and says, “See that island?”

“Yeah.”

“Fly over it and then drop again.”

Wash wonders how many times the dropship can fall before not being able to get back up, but he steers toward the island and drops.

One of the TIEs lowers to skim the lake and turns to run full speed at them and then suddenly lurches left, wing tip scraping off against something below the water’s surface. The entire ship tilts and sinks into the water.

“Sandbar,” Epsilon says with a grin, “or rockbar.”

The dropship rises, thankfully. The third TIE stays in the middle of the lake and fires off blasts high in the air down at them. Wash flies higher to hover above it. It takes only a moment for the craft to rotate to face upwards but Wash is already dropping them again onto their glass window.

Just as he guesses the belly is about to break their window, something knocks them to the side- something much stronger than a blast. The dropship flies sideways and tilts. Dark smoke billows from the crushed thruster, but they’re still in the air.

The TIE isn’t so lucky. The entire side of the ship is already in the water. Sharp teeth in a round mouth sucks the water and ship down its throat in seconds.

“Uhh,” Epsilon gapes.

Wash quickly kicks Epsilon out of the ship’s system back into his holowatch and pops the ramp open in the back. He works his way through the storage space, grabbing seats and safety belts. He grabs a loading hook as he rocks dangerously over the edge of the opening. The water swirls where the mouth just ate an entire spaceship.

A tentacle knocks into the ship sending Wash into the air. He has a second to take a breath before he plunges into the lake.

The water is like rock. His wrist breaks immediately. The water sucks him down into the murky green. It burns his eyes and something wraps around his ankle. He kicks it off.

He doesn’t know which way is up or down, left or right. Air screams in his chest to escape. Against instinct, he lets himself float and allows the water to reorient him.

Shoving himself where he thinks the surface is with one arm sends him off track but he breaks into air. He sucks in water as the waves crash over his head. Wash cradles his wrist close to his chest and finds the closest shore and carefully tries to paddle away from the monster in the center of the lake.

It takes him much longer to get to shore with one hand rather than two, but he collapses onto his shoulder when he stumbles onto the sand. The warm sand tickles his neck and he just wants to sleep.

The center of the lake bubbles and the dropship’s remaining wing quickly gets sucked down.

“Well,” Epsilon says, and Wash flicks his eyes to the AI, nearly invisible in the sunlight, “That was fun.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Red vs Blue or Star Wars. I did smoosh them together though and made up my own rules. ZaliaChimera's In Hope's Shadow got me thinking and this is what happened. Check out their fic!

Chorus is a planet of vines. He shoves a clump of them out his path, if he could call it that.

The trees that he was afraid of crashing into now tower over him, needles bouncing as unseen creatures jump branch to branch. The dropship had gone down too fast to the lake monster for him to search for any weapons, but he doubted delivery would have much use for blasters on board.

Epsilon keeps up a stream a chatter, floating alongside Wash while he pushes all the undergrowth out of his way with one hand. He’d broken off some wide branches and ripped some vine to build a makeshift splint around his wrist before they set off in the direction Epsilon thought the outpost was.

When he had snagged his chip, Epsilon’s light was red. He didn’t know much about AIs, but he knew red usually meant something _bad._ Trusting Epsilon was one thing, trusting his calculations was another. The fight with the TIEs was a risky bet he needed to take. 

He watches Epsilon out of the corner his eye where he waves wildly about ewoks, treehouses, and roads. Some pixels glitch with his gesturing but he wasn’t falling apart or rampant. Wash shoves the thought aside, concentrating on not tripping over a root instead.

“I mean, seriously, you’d think they’d have some sort of sign.”

Wash rolls his eyes and doesn’t respond.

They wander for hours. The canopy above them keeps the suns off his back though it doesn’t stop him from sweating. A trickle of it tickles his spine, caught between his skin and tank.

Heat and the lack of food and water brings nausea to the surface. Each tree looks the same as the one before it with moss and ferns at its base. If his holowatch didn’t have a compass he would be positive they were walking in circles.

“Do you have any idea how much longer?” Wash tries to keep the whine out of his words.

He looks up when there’s no answer. Epsilon still hovers above him shuffling his feet and avoiding Wash’s eye. A weight settles into his gut.

“Epsilon?”

Epsilon hesitates, “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I mean,” he flickers, “we should’ve been there by now.”

“You mean we’re lost.”

“No! I-”

“We’ve been walking for hours and _now_ you say something?”

Epsilon at least shuffles in shame. Wash paces a moment then falls back on a log, feet screaming at the thought of wandering for how many more hours. He wipes his good hand across his forehead. They were lost, but they were out of the Fleet and the sticky air is a whole galaxy better than the stale taste of the MOI.

Any ire toward Epsilon is buried deep beneath fatigue and worry. He’s not even sure it’s there, not when Epsilon’s twisting his fingers like that. Not when that little red light glows in his mind.

A large bird with vibrant wings crows from the tree across from them. It preens its feathers in the little sunshine finding its way through the leaves. The last thing he wants is to spend the night on the forest floor even if Epsilon was up for running watch. None of the branches he’s seen have been low enough for him to climb one-handed, and he doesn’t want to hide among the ferns.

He runs a hand over his face and suppresses a groan.

“I’m sorry,” Epsilon says quietly.

In the year he’d known the AI, he’d only heard apologizes that were sincere a handful of times. Whenever he failed a task or assignment, Wash swore Epsilon shrunk a few pixels.

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t ask to come along.”

“Bullshit,” Epsilon spits. “If you left me there in that shitshow, I’d track you down and murder you and mutilate your corpse.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Wash mutters.

Imagining his team’s reaction when they were told he deserted hurts. _Escaped_. He imagines their disbelief followed by their confusion and fury. How many TIEs would they send to hunt Epsilon down and take care of the traitor?

“Hands up!”

Wash spins around as Epsilon disappears.

He raises his hands slowly above his head watching the blasters in the men’s hands, fingers on the triggers. The one in aqua steps over a small fallen tree while the other in blue stays put. Odd colors in a forest, he thinks distractedly. Wash tries to keep them both in his lines of sight but the aqua one circles around him.

He winces when the blaster burrows into the muscle below his ribs.

“You from one of those TIEs that ate shit?” The voice is muffled by the fabric hanging over the man’s mouth. The mirrored goggles of the other one stretches his body in their reflection. He _looks_ like shit.

“No.”

The muzzle digs in far, “Wanna explain why you’re talking to yourself in the middle of a fucking forest?”

Wash chews his lip and hesitates, wondering what would get him in less trouble. Being a lost stranger was dangerous. Being a lost stranger from the Empire was practically a death sentence in certain corners of the galaxy.

“I’m a bit dehydrated and hungry. I was looking for water.” It’s not a lie. His tongue was threatening to stick to the top of his mouth with every word.

“Uh-huh,” The one behind him says, suspiciously.

“Maybe Kimball can give him snacks, Tucker.”

“ _Shut up, Caboose!_ ”

The blaster leaves his side as the man in aqua steps forward and jabs it at the other, “Seriously? I cannot _believe_ they made me bring you.”

“I am the most wanted girl at the prom,” Caboose sniffs.

“What the fuck does ‘prom’ even mean?” Tucker turns to Wash, “Do you see the bullshit I have to deal with? I don’t get paid enough for this.”

Caboose gasps. “You get paid?”

“I will shoot you. No one will ever know.”

Wash manages to clear his throat causing Tucker to raise his weapon up again. Caboose simply stares at him.

“As much as I’d love to watch you two bicker all day, do you have any water on you?”

Both men turn simultaneously to him and then to each other. They must read something in their goggles because Tucker groans and spins his companion around. A large rucksack hangs off the bigger man. Tucker’s arm disappears up to his shoulder in it as he rummages. Finally, his hand emerges with a canteen. Whatever little moisture in his mouth evaporates at the sight. He reaches for it but Tucker yanks it back over his head.

“Uh-uh. You gotta tell me your name and how you got here.”

He glares at Tucker. “Washington. My ship was eaten by a lake monster.”

Tucker and Caboose speak at the same time.

“Ha! So, you were lying.”

“Do you mean Freckles?”

“He means the fucking dianoga you named, stupid.”

Tucker catches Wash eyeing the canteen and tosses it to him like a bone. He quickly screws the cap off and gulps it down. The cool water rejuvenates him instantly. He forces himself to slow down and take a small sip.

“Thanks. And I wasn’t lying. I wasn’t in a TIE.”

The forest sounds fill the empty air. Wash thinks they don’t know exactly what to do with him yet. They’re both staring at him, faces unreadable. He sneaks another glance at himself in their goggles.

His wrinkled jumpsuit and tousled hair sticks up in all directions. With a gash at his hairline and blood down his cheek, he looks like a madman.

A thousand thoughts and excuses run through his head, only a few truthful ones he hopes won’t make them put a blaster bolt in his heart. He wonders if the Fleet was organizing to come after him at this very moment. If they weren’t flying out and heading right toward them. The thought makes his heart lurch. He wasn’t going to cause any more deaths if he could help it.  

He swallows thickly and takes a step back, “Well, if you don’t mind I’m just going to go…”

Tucker raises his blaster to Wash’s head. “Yeah, no. You’re coming with us.”

Wash frowns at Tucker as he searches under his tunic for something. He tries to assess his weapons on his belt, but the fabric falls back before he can. Instead, Tucker pulls out a pair of manacles.

“Turn around.”

“Listen, you don’t want to do that.”

Tucker pauses a few meters away, “Why not?”

“Because, I- just. Just point me to the nearest shuttle and you’ll never see me again. Deal?”

He swears his holowatch burns his skin, but he ignores it.

“Sorry, dude. Protocol and shit,” Tucker says, walking forward.

Wash waits until the first cuff is locked around his wrist to drive his fist into Tucker’s gut.

The man doubles over gasping and Wash grabs the blaster out of his hand, shooting a wide shot at Caboose who squawks. He shoots another bolt at Tucker’s feet before jumping over a log and running.

Roots trip him up and he nearly falls. Low branches whip across his cheeks as he rushes passed. His head starts to pound with his heartbeat and the ground pulsations sickeningly beneath his feet.

“Slow down or you’re going to eat shit!” Epsilon yelps, appearing next to him and keeping pace.

Wash runs another hundred meters before collapsing against a tree, the bark rough. He closes his eyes feeling his hands shake. Muscles protesting, he straightens.

Epsilon silently watches him suck in air, but Wash can feel his judgement.

“What?” He gasps out.

“They were from Armonia.”

“ _What?_ Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I did! You ignored me!”

Surely enough his holowatch flashes a message at him.

“Well, _sorry_. I was a little busy.”

Epsilon rolls his eyes.

Wash lowers himself to the bottom of the tree and curls between its roots. They cradle him in the soft soil as he hugs his knees to his chest, resting his head on them.

Exhaustion fills the space in his forehead his beating heart left behind. He’d woken up less than three days before on his cot in an illusion of safety and friends-family-protecting him from Fleet secrets and now he sits on an unfamiliar outer planet filled with lake monsters and colorful birds, alone except for a piece of high-tech.

He scolds himself for that thought, but if he could have left with anthropoid friend, he would have, if only to hear someone else breathing.

But he was their new enemy. He didn’t have any family left. Not anymore. Not in the entire galaxy.

Tears prick his eyes. The harder he tries to hold them back, the more they burn until they start to choke his throat.

When his breath starts to hitch, Epsilon says nothing.

 

***

 

It’s twilight when he opens his eyes. The purple sky is still visible between the tree tops but it’s almost completely dark beneath their shade. He shivers and listens to the insects hum around them.

Epsilon’s light casts the trees and underbrush into unnerving shadow. He drifts above Wash, either ignoring or ignorant of his companion’s consciousness, and scanning the area with a watchful eye.

Something warms in Wash’s chest, and he slips back into the dark.

 

***

 

When he wakes, sun is leaking through the green canopy. He can even see the veins of some giant leaves above him. Dirt falls down the back of his jumpsuit and the torn shirt beneath as he stretches his arms above his head, carefully of the loose cufflink and wrist. He resolves that when he finds clean, empty waters, he’s bathing.

Picking up the blaster he left at his side overnight, he stands and observes the area. He was stupid to not assess the area before falling asleep but it was small cove of trees and ferns with soft soil. His neck aches from the ground, but it’s better than to be expected.

Nearly transparent in the light, Epsilon hovers in the middle of the cove, observing the trees peacefully. Wash stands next to him in quiet planning.

It doesn’t last.

“Well since you fucked up our chances of going to Armonia, what do you want to do now?”

Wash sighs and runs a hand down his face, touching tender sunburn on his nose. As much as he wants off planet, he needs to find water first, maybe food. There were bound to be berries and fruit in a forest such as this.

“What I want is a yearlong shower, but I also want a buffet of the galaxy’s finest cuisines and wines. A massage.”

“Anything else, princess?”

“No, that’s about it.”

“Well, there’s a waterfall a few kilometers that way,” Epsilon points. “I managed to steal some maps off those assholes’ datapad. Honestly, they’re lucky it was just us; they should really protect those things out here.”

“Lucky for us they didn’t. Lead the way.”

Wash’s energy doubles when he hears the roar of the waterfall. He starts jogging when it starts to drown out the incessant insects and birds. True to his word, the fall is exactly where Epsilon indicated.

The small pond at its base flows into a river below them. Small rapids curve around rocks jutting out from the surface.

Wash laughs when a fish jumps out of the water.

Stripping as he goes, he rushes down the slope. Tugging off his boot quickly, he puts one foot in the water. It breaks over his blistered foot, cool and welcoming. He laughs again and scoops water into his hands, carefully of his splint.

It has a taint he can’t name but it slides over his parched lips and tongue. He quickly collects another handful before unlacing his other boot.

Slipping into the water feels like coming home. Keeping his wrist close to his chest, he squeezes the wet sand between his toes and carefully floats onto his back.

He tucks his chin when Epsilon appears and walks down his splint onto his chest. He peaks over Wash’s side into the water.

The AI’s lips move but Wash can’t hear anything over the rush of the fall. Figuring if it was important, Epsilon would be more insistent, he tilts his head back into the water.

It gently laps against his skin as it pushes him the around the pond. Eventually he drinks more of the water after Epsilon messages him that the men had had it marked as safe. Running a hand through his dirty hair causes him to dunk his head and drown out the world for a moment, letting it disappear.

As the suns rise higher, Wash reluctantly climbs out of the water with his stomach growling. He dries himself with his torn shirt and unwillingly pulls on his dirty jumpsuit again.

He and Epsilon walk along the river, searching for any berries. He finds a strange looking nut, but passes it by at Epsilon’s claim of hallucinations noted in the datapad. The roar of the waterfall dims as they travel further downstream, the small rapids slowing as well. Soon, only a small gurgle escapes the river.

“E?”

“Hmm?”

Wash studies the riverside, feeling heat stain his cheeks, “Thanks for being here. And stealing their map and… and everything else.”

Epsilon turns to him, “Are we having a moment?”

“No,” Wash says firmly.

“Good.”

Before Wash can say anything else some type of waterfowl lands a meter in front of them. If he hadn’t seen it land, he wouldn’t have seen it at all. Tall feathers on its crown blend perfectly with the green it landed in. It’s excellent camouflage.

Wash silently raises his blaster, aiming at the fowl carefully. A blaster bolt might fry the thing, but at least he won’t have to cook it.

The bolt flies true into the breast of the fowl which doesn’t get the chance to make a sound. It falls forward into the reeds and tumbles into the river.

“Are you kidding me?!” Wash squeaks. He kneels at the river’s edge hoping the bird will float back to the surface. The ripples are still petering out where it fell. He carefully balances on his knees and leans forward, sticking his good hand into the cool water.

The fowl floats up toward his fingertips, just out of reach. It slowly rises to meet his hand, Wash stretching forward to meet it.

Something booms overhead and Wash somersaults into the water. He sputters, looking around.

A flock of brightly colored birds rise above the trees, flapping madly. Another sonic boom rips the air apart, splitting the forest. Wash clasps his hands over his ears as more booms tear through.

He pulls himself out of the water and into the trees. One final boom rents the sky above them.

A Starfighter shoots above the trees. Wash slams against a tree, covering his holowatch with a command for Epsilon to disappear. Without a word, the AI listens, his pixels scattering. Closing his eyes, Wash tries to control his breathing.

He listens for anymore TIE Starfighters speeding in. He wonders who’s piloting them for a moment before moving through the trees, hoping that they were pinging near the lake and not the river, or wherever Caboose, Tucker, and Kimball were now.

Slipping and stumbling blindly in the moss, Wash tries to slow his heart. Its beat so loud he’s sure anyone can hear it from kilometers away. Roots and vines try to trap his arms and legs, but he pushes forward.

They manage to make it back to the waterfall, Epsilon still hidden but heating the holowatch with directions. He debates a moment before walking into the water. It fights him, but he makes it to the fall. He feels a small ledge behind it, and ducks his head, water pounding his head and shoulders.

The ledge is barely wide enough for him to sit, but he fits with his knees tucked under his chin. He watches the deafening water fall, wanting it to be enough to fool any heat sensors the TIEs were using.

Wash meets Epsilon’s eyes while bringing the holowatch to his lips. Despite Epsilon’s blue coloring, the diminutive AI was a copy of the Director. With small pixelated spectacles, a tunic, and boots, E’s charisma was his own and yet the Director’s influence was clear. Except they were so different it felt wrong to compare them.

“How many ships were there? Did you see?”

_I saw three,_ scrolls across the screen.

“Could you see the identification insignias?”

_…No._

“ _E._ ”

Epsilon’s shoulders droop.

_Wyoming, York… Maine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Red vs Blue or Star Wars. I did smoosh them together though and made up my own rules. ZaliaChimera's In Hope's Shadow got me thinking and this is what happened. Check out their fic!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Red vs Blue or Star Wars. I did smoosh them together though and made up my own rules. ZaliaChimera's In Hope's Shadow got me thinking and this is what happened. Check out their fic!

Wash pinches his nose and tries to collect his thoughts from the race they’re running. The waterfall is a dull roar compared to the one in his head as he tries to think of a plan to stay alive now his old friends are searching for him, and he was far from any other outposts beyond Armonia.

“What are the chances of getting shot or arrested at Armonia?” He asks Epsilon after a few minutes.

_Are you serious?_ It was too loud to hear the AI with his own human hearing, so they were using the holowatch. _You_ shot _at them._

“It’s possibly our only way to get off this planet without the guarantee of a bolt in my skull.”

Epsilon doesn’t retort, which doesn’t make Wash feel better.

They get their bearings before ducking back beneath the falls. The suns had started their descent below the trees, and still not being fond of spending the night in the forest again, they set off in the direction of the outpost after finding some berries.

The juicy, sweet fruits rejuvenate Wash although they are nowhere near filling. He allows him to daydream of the food Caboose had spoken of, and hopes he didn’t fuck up too badly with them. Or at least hopes they don’t have the power to turn him away without some trial.

Epsilon occasionally corrects his path when he starts straying but remains hidden in the holowatch. Neither of them were keen to learn if his projecting would be spotted by someone in the evening light.

The blaster brings him some comfort when creatures cross his path. His belly aches each time he lets one go despite not having any way to prepare and eat them. He pointlessly wonders if the dropship had any rations on board while they walk, Epsilon burning his wrist with complaints about the ugly animals and their stink, and even though Wash wants to argue about what senses AI possess, he stays quiet.

Wash guesses it’s an hour past midnight when he sees the lanterns.

Stationary and blue, they shine through the trees with guards beneath them. He can make out the outline of large blasters in their hands, much bigger than his own.

The guards’ forms are disturbingly familiar, and he steps behind a tree, trying to listen.

“Why are we here?”

“What do you mean, my boy?”

Wash closes his eyes.

“I mean,” York says, “what are we doing here? I know Wash left but is this all necessary? I heard Epsilon wasn’t even that useful. He could run systems but he wasn’t as…stable as the others.”

“Maybe you can radio Carolina or the Director and inquire on why a fully trained operative stealing and deserting with an expensive AI from space marines is a problem,” Wyoming suggests.

York doesn’t reply, and Wash opens his eyes.

It wasn’t surprising Wyoming didn’t really care, but he had expected York to be more concerned about his wellbeing. At least a bit.

Wash pushes off the tree as quietly as he can in the undergrowth, forcing down his hurt for another time. It takes everything in him not to look behind, to his old team.

He lets the buzzing of insects drown out his thoughts as the sky and clouds grow dark.

They force their way through the buffer, though. It was always him, Maine, and Connie. Connie was long gone; their trio knocked down to two. Two slips of humans walking into an insurrectionist's base followed in by a Khommite never got old, or it hadn't until Connie got iced as a traitor and the AI appeared, splitting the duo in half. 

Far from the lantern light, Epsilon appears. He says nothing. His light pushes back the dark just enough that Wash can see where to step. A few creatures run across his path, startling them both. 

Night's completely fallen when he trips the wire. 

The  _snap_  cuts through his pant leg, hot blood already spilling into his sock and he's lurched up, Epsilon a bright blur. 

Wash's tongue stings where he bit it in surprise. Knees locked up against his chest, he can feel the thickly braided vines squeezing his body tighter as his own weight pulls him down. He squirms but the net holds. 

He glares down at Epsilon, "Are you going to help or not?"

The AI crosses his arms. "And what exactly do you want me to do?"

"New plan: when we're off this Force forsaken planet we're finding you a protocol droid so you can actually help," he tugs on the vines uselessly. "Or maybe a LEP. That'd be even better."

"Fuck you," he says, but he reforms closer.

He supposes he should be grateful the vines aren’t covered in thorns as he tries to tear the braided strands apart. Epsilon keeps watch while staying close enough for Wash to see the outline of his cage.

He tries to swing toward the trunk of the closest tree to no avail as he simply spins and sighs in frustration. Tearing his good pant leg, he ties it by feel around the wire’s cut, fighting with his wrist’s pain.

They only debate a moment before Wash tries to get comfortable until morning when he can see more of the net and hopefully find a way to get down.

Dawn breaks through the trees and along with far off footsteps. Wash spins uselessly again in the netting then goes for the knotted vines above him about the size of his head.

“Well, well, well. Look who it is.”

Wash rotates toward the group lumbering through the undergrowth, two in familiar colors. Tucker cross his arms eerily like Epsilon with Caboose on his left and two others in red and orange tunics on the right.

“Is this the guy you’ve been bitching about?” The portly orange one asks.

“Yes.”

Wash glares at him and gestures to the netting, “I’m assuming this was you?”

“I mean technically it was Sarge,” Tucker says, pulling out a small knife. He moves beneath Wash, out of sight, and for a moment Wash thinks he’s going to stab him when the vines loosen around him.

“Hey, wait-”

The foliage does nothing to break his fall. Breathless, he sees his blaster picked up by a gloved hand. Wash lays a moment before carefully stretching his arms and legs, tight from being scrunched up all night. He sits up with a groan.

His blaster rests over Tucker’s back, and the other four guns are pointed down at him, steady and sure. Maybe Epsilon was right about not being forgiven for shooting at them.

Raising his hands carefully, he gets to his feet. Only Caboose and the one in red are taller than him, but he has no doubt that at least one of them will shoot if he tries anything.

Wash hisses as Tucker locks new manacles around his wrists, none too gently. He cradles his wrist with the loose splint. It wasn’t broken, not really, maybe some hairline fractures, but he didn’t appreciate it being roughed up even more.

Tucker pokes his shoulder with his blaster, “Sit.”

He does, looking up at them all again. Until Caboose settles down too, blaster across his knees. The one in red sighs but no one makes him stand again.

“So, are you going to tell us what happened this time, or are you going to lie again?” Tucker snaps.

Wash raises an eyebrow at his tone. He wonders if the man was upset because of the lie or the stomach punch.

“I told you. I wasn’t in any of those TIEs that went down. That lake monster thing ate my ship.”

“Why were you running from the TIEs then?”

“I didn’t say I was,” Wash says.

No one says anything but Wash suspects Tucker is glaring at him from behind the goggles. Caboose tilts his head quizzically.

“So, you just happened to be near the dianoga when the TIEs, who have never been here before, were taken down, and then your ship was taken down too? Without being involved with them?” Red asks, “That’s some coincidence.”

“You can’t possibly monitor all the ships that come onto Chorus.”

“It’s pretty easy, actually,” Red says, “not that many come this far to the outer planets.”

“Simmons.” Orange scolds. Simmons shuffles his feet, and Wash wonders what he just gave away, but he has more pressing problems.

“Wait, I thought this was a refugee planet. Aren’t there ships that transport them here?”

The three men look at each other while Caboose plays with a large leaf.

“As far as I know,” Simmons says, “Chorus has never been a refugee planet. Grif?”

“No,” Orange says with certainty, “Only outlaws or rebels come out this far. Refugees would probably be better off closer to the center of the galaxy. Like they’d be safer here but there’s nothing to do. They wouldn’t have any help or support. Whatever scraps of the Republic don’t come this far.”

The three other men stare blatantly at Grif while Wash frantically wishes Epsilon could read his mind to hear the profanities running through it.

If Chorus wasn’t a refugee planet, why did they come this far? If the center was really is safer than the outer galaxy, the outer planets mist be putting up one hell of a fight if the inner ones were so secure that they weren’t being enforced.

“So, you’re telling me that-”

There’s a yelp as Simmons hits the ground and everyone starts swearing. Another red bolt hits a tree, bark spraying.

Wash drops to his stomach and searches the trees frantically.

A bolt scorches a leaf half a meter in front of him, embers licking the surrounding green. He scrambles backwards on his knees. Tucker pushes Caboose behind a tree, Grif and Simmons behind another. Wash makes it behind the tree next to Tucker’s and presses his back against it.

He eyes the gun across Tucker’s back. “Give me a gun.”

Tucker eyes flicker to him, “Um, no.”

He swears as a bolt takes off bark above his head. Wash peeks around his tree as another bolt hits the ground at Grif’s feet. There’s a glimmer of gold armor before more bolts fire at his face.

“Listen. Just give me a gun and you can all go. Run. They want me not you.”

“Oh, so you definitely _weren’t_ with the TIEs then?”

“Now is not the time!”

More red streaks the air around them as he and Tucker stare at each other. Wash’s reflection in the goggles flinches whenever a bolt passes between them.

Tucker makes a noise of disgust but slings the blaster over his shoulder and tosses it to Wash. He immediately swings around the tree and aims to the left of York’s armor.

Bolts rapidly fly toward him from his right. Wash shoots a few back before ducking back.

“Hey, York, whatever happened to the ‘friends on teams don’t get beamed’ motto?” Wash calls out, mouthing _Go_ to Tucker and the rest.

“Just tell us what’s going on, Wash,” York calls back. “What’s this all about?”

Tucker motions his hands at Wash, but Wash ignores him, looking to where York’s partner is.

“Wyoming? Maine? You out here too?”

A bolt hits his tree again, chipping away more bark and leaving the smell of burning wood. But he’s focused on the slight flare of orange between the trees. Epsilon burns on his wrist as he recognizes Sigma.

The same angry fire burns through Wash. He knew Sigma was no good. The AI was different than all the others. Opposite of Theta and more manipulative than E.

“I hope you’re not following Sigma’s orders, Maine. Guy was always a lying prick.”

Tucker falls behind Wash, still waving his hands around. Wash spares him a glance before shooting a bolt through Sigma’s projection.

_“What?”_

“C’mon.”

Wash looks behind him at York’s armor and Sigma’s flare. Tucker tugs on his elbow and Wash lets him lead him away. Caboose, Grif, and Simmons are already gone.

He shoots more bolts back at his old team and follows Tucker.

They run through the foliage. They try to listen to any following footsteps but their own breathing fills their ears. Between breaths Tucker tries to interrogate him, but Wash shoots questions back because he doesn’t know how to answer Tucker.

_Who are those people? Why are they after you? What was that orange thing? Who are you? Where did you come from? Why are you here?_

_Where are we going? How did you find me? Why don’t people come here? Why are_ you _here?_

It’s another hour of trekking through the forest. Wash’s stomach starts to cramp as he runs on an empty stomach, but that’s wiped from his mind as they pass through some clustered trees.

As Tucker pushes away some branches, tents and log buildings spread across a clearing. No, not a clearing, the ruins of a building. Boulders to smooth to be natural pile around the area. A wall. More broken towers stand like jagged teeth against the trees and sky.

People mingle through the tents and buildings. Some species Wash’s never seen before in the same tunics and masks as Tucker. Some wear goggles and others in spectacles. Tucker and the others he met in the forest look cleaner than the ones here. Less holes in their clothing, less cracks in their goggles.

Tucker turns to him, lifting his goggles to reveal bright turquoise eyes.

“Welcome to Armonia, asshole”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter was a bit rushed so I'm sorry if it sucks or seems different than the first half. I've been busy lately and had some health problems that led to a kidney stone, yay! So I'm all better now so hopefully these chapters will be coming out faster. I'm going on vacation next week so I'll have a lot more time to write!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Red vs Blue or Star Wars. 
> 
> Edited for grammar and spelling errors.

If anyone in Armonia knew that Wash had just fled the Empire, he'd be dead by now. He's certain of it. 

The other men wander off into the buildings surrounding the square while Tucker determinedly stares ahead, watching the other figures mill around. 

Wash can almost feel Epsilon leave his watch and try to hack into any available computer. The figures carry weapon boxes followed by others with canned food. A pack of jawas carry speeder parts above their heads quickly followed by a man waving a disc emitting blue light at them. 

He had expected refugees despite what they said, not a poorly concealed rebel base although he didn't know who would really bother to check out this far from any other planets. He did know he was going to kill Epsilon when he had the chance. 

He didn't want this. He wanted to find a nice little hovel in the middle of nowhere and die of old age, not in an attack and certainly not in a war. Not anymore. 

"Come on," Tucker says. 

He leaves Wash no choice as he grips his arm and drags him to one of the bigger buildings. He thinks at one point it may have been some type of city hall. The central dome is only partially paneled in gold, the rest is exposed heavy beaming. 

The inside isn't in much better shape, but the floor looks swept and the interior is relatively empty besides a few tables and chairs. 

Tucker takes him to a heavy metal door that looks like it survived many assaults. Tucker doesn't bother knocking. He puts in a code too fast for Wash to catch and walks in. 

Raised voices reach the hall where Wash hesitates. Tucker rolls his iridescent eyes and tugs him through the doorway. 

The door clicks shut behind him as soon as he passes through. A single light hangs over a table propped up by storage boxes. The hologram disappears before he can catch a glimpse of what it is supposed to be. 

Wash feels his eyes widen not at the Mon Calamari running his hands over each other, but at the Chiss whose red eyes glow and glower at him. He can practically feel the heat from the flames kindling behind them. 

He tries not to stare at the female but he can't help be curious. He's heard of most of the human family tree but he hasn't come across them all. His mother had always scolded him for staring at other species as a child. 

"Who is this, Captain Tucker" The female asks. Her words are accented but Wash can't pinpoint where he's heard it before. 

 _Captain_  Tucker shoves Wash forward instead of answering. Wash sends him a dirty look. 

He comes to attention under the Chiss' watchful eyes. He resists pulling at his clothes. Spending days in the forest, wading through waters, and sleeping in a hunter's net didn't give him the greatest self-confidence as he looks down at his ripped jumpsuit. 

"David Washington, ma'am," he says. It feels completely foreign coming off his tongue. It'd been so long since he said his full name and not substituted it with 'agent.' 

"And are you the reason Captain Tucker has been giving me more headaches than usual?"

Wash doesn't exactly know how to respond to that, so he says nothing. 

The Chiss sighs before rounding the table. She crosses her arms and leans against the table which wobbles under her weight. 

"Then let me ask you this: were you involved with those TIE fighters that crashed into the lake?"

"No, they started attacking me when I was in Chorus' orbit."

He can feel Tucker's eyes on the back of his neck. 

"Why were you in our orbit?"

"A friend told me this was a refugee planet, that I could get a ship out of here." Wash stops his wrist from twitching. 

"We haven't had refugees for a long, long time, Washington. Your friend either lied to you or was wrong. What was wrong with your ship that you couldn't use it to take you somewhere else?"

"It wasn't built for long-term travel."

She cocks a thin eyebrow, "And yet you made it to Chorus, one of the most backwater planets in this galaxy."

Her heavy gaze reminds him uncomfortably of Carolina's. This female could give her a run for her credits.

"What is this place," he asks, "or why? Why would you be running a rebel base on a backwater planet? Don't you know the fights over?"

Her blue lips part just as a noise behind Wash nearly makes him jump. A man adorned all in red (didn't these people know anything about camouflage?) struts through the door with a big blaster across his chest. Wash vaguely wonders if they all know they look like insects with their goggles. 

"Sorry, Vanessa, didn't know ya had company."

Vanessa pinches her nose. "Do you mind waiting outside?"

"Nah, I'm good."

She stares at him with exasperation before turning back to Wash who feels the new man studying him too. 

"Alright, Washington. I don't have time to deal with you right now. Tucker, take him to the Beta building. Doyle, let’s go."

The Mon Calamari hurries after Vanessa, and the room falls silent when the door shuts behind him. Wash turns around and meets Tucker's eyes and the other man's goggles. 

"You wanna take him?"

"Nope."

Tucker sighs loudly before grabbing Wash's arm again. Wash yanks it away. "I can walk, thanks."

Tucker shrugs. "Bye, Sarge," he says before leaving the room. 

Wash doesn't follow. "Thanks for the trap," he says. 

Sarge looks him over and he has to resist the urge to fix his clothes again, but Sarge doesn't break his gaze. 

"Nice boots, son."

He fights down the rush of blood to his cheeks. The boots were smooth and unstained only having seen the ground a few times making them easy to upkeep. Freelancer-issued. Neither blood nor mud clung to them for long. Only a slight layer of loam on the treads mark where Tucker had marched him through the forest. 

Wash looks up and Sarge is gone. 

 

***

 

The Beta building is in a worse state than the city hall. A rogue droid runs into the wall before collapsing on to its back. Tucker shoots it without sparing it a second glance. 

Dirty grey dust tries to puff up under their footsteps but is too heavy to rise. Tucker lets Wash inspect the dead droid before clearing his throat. 

"You really think the war is over?"

Wash stands with a groan. "Don't you?"

Tucker chews his lip and doesn't answer. He's young, a few years younger than Wash but neither of them were old enough when the Empire first formed. Years later and people are still fighting it on the outskirts. 

"It over for me at least," Wash says to fill the quiet. "I don't want to fight. I want to find a quiet planet in the middle of nowhere."

"Well," he continues, gesturing around, "a different planet in the middle of nowhere."

Tucker's eyes seem to glow in the dim light. "And you're just going to let the rest of the galaxy battle it out while you sit on a beach somewhere?"

"From what I heard the rest of the galaxy is sitting in the Empire's hand."

"Maybe someone will come along and help us out. Maybe a powerful planet will fight back."

Wash snorts. "Like who? The Jedi? They were massacred years ago and I doubt they were as great as the legends say or they'd still be around, and if the Force is still here it's obviously not picking any new 'chosen ones.'"

Tucker looks away, kicking a loose piece of rubble and sending it clattering down the hall. Wash frowns. He's starting to sound like York. 

"Listen," he starts, crossing his arms. "I used to believe in the Jedi too, but they're just fairy tales. No one's coming to save us."

He watches Tucker nod once resolutely. He leads Wash farther into the building. It gets dirtier and dimmer as they go. A strange looking mouse runs over Tucker's boot and he nearly blows his foot off with the blaster. 

Tucker stops suddenly in front of a door. It's not metal nor is it modern; it's a simple swing door with a knob and hinges and a lock on the outside. 

"Welcome," is all Tucker says as he pushes open the door. He cracks something and an orange light glows from his hands. He tosses it in and the room looks like it's on fire. 

A cot, a table, and a ratty rug fill the space no bigger than his room on the MOI. 

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Nope," Tucker says, popping the word. "Kimball will come by in the morning."

"It's noon now!"

"She's a busy woman," Tucker says tiredly. "Someone will come bring you food and take you to the shitter."

And then he shuts the door. The glow stick burns his eyes so he turns away. 

Epsilon's already speaking when he appears. "-and I'm pretty impressed with their defenses. I think that Simmons guy is the only re-"

"What the hell, E?" 

The AI freezes mid-sentence, "What?"

"You know what. You told me this was a refugee planet, not a rebel base!"

Epsilon's light dims a little but he stays the same size. "It  _was_  a refugee planet at one point..."

"When? When the Republic was still strong?" 

Wash knows he's shouting now and he doesn't care if someone thinks he's delusional. He doesn't even care if someone sees Epsilon. The hurt and anger fight in his chest. 

"Calm down, Wash, someone's going to hear you-"

"I don't care! Why did you bring us here?"

Doesn't he realize what he's done? If Armonia ever finds out he's from Freelancer and connects it to the Empire, two sides of a war will want his head on a pike. 

"Oh, don't give me that," Epsilon snaps. "After everything they've done to you and your family, you can't tell me you don't want revenge."

"I can't take an empire down by myself, E! Haven't you heard the best revenge is living well?"

"Holy shit, Wash, you won't be alone! You have me and an entire rebel base on your side!"

"A rebel base that will shoot me through the head if they find out I led the TIEs here because the Empire's after my ass!"

Before Epsilon can retort, there's a polite knock on the door. Wash points at the AI and mouths  _This isn't over_ and then waits for the door to open. 

An Arkanian steps through the door with an old med droid on her heels. Wash blinks when she has purple irises. 

"Hello!" She says. The droid knocks over a tray of gauze. Wash picks it up and gives it back. 

"Hello."

"I'm Emily Grey, the local doctor!" She waves a five-fingered hand toward him. "And you must be Washington."

"Yes." 

She doesn't seem perturbed by his short answers. "Captain Tucker thought you needed some medical attention, so here I am!"

Grey brings out some scalpels and some other sharp looking instruments Wash doesn't want anywhere near his skin. 

"Did Tucker tell you it was just my wrist?"

"Yep, but I'm going to give you an entire physical if you don't mind. Don't want you bringing in any parasites or diseases from off planet. Can never be too careful!" She punctuates her words by snapping on gloves. 

"Well you don't have to worry about that. I've had all the vaccines so really if you just looked at my-"

Grey starts tsking, her pale eyes on his. "Sorry, Washington, Generals' orders. Plus, patients lie so I always have to double check."

She pulls his wrist toward him gently and turns it over. There's a slight indentation below his thumb and his wrist is swollen though its gone down since the crash. Grey starts bending it and his vision suddenly goes white. 

"Well that answers that. Fracture in your scaphoid. Just a hairline probably. This might take a couple of months to heal because you've been using it when you shouldn't have." She pins him with a glare. 

"I didn't have a choice."

"That's what they all say." The med droid brings her a slip-on cast that she adjusts without hurting his wrist again. "Now I'm going to need a blood sample from you. You're not a fainter, are you?"

"Not usually."

"Good, then this will only take a minute."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! And thanks for the comments and kudos!


	5. Chapter 5

The glowstick starts to dim but still projects an orange light around the tiny room. Really, it was more like a cell in Wash’s opinion even though the door was unlocked from the other side. He had checked a few minutes after Grey left with what he thought was an excessive amount of his blood, but he doubted he was alone or unwatched.

He had spent an hour trying to get Epsilon to reappear to no avail. Even when he started bashing the AI’s pixelated blaster no blue light shined. So, after examining the tiny room, Wash lays on his back on the scratchy cot. Tucker hadn’t promised new clothes, but Wash couldn’t wait to get out of his; the dried mud was starting to itch like mad.

He plays with the straps on his new cast. Grey had given him some little pills for the pain, but he suspects they are nothing more than the headache medicine he used to take as a child.

Rust lines the cracks in the sheets of metal above him, even more orange in the glowstick’s light. It’s disconcerting.

A knock wakes him up. The light’s even more faded so he can’t see the door. He cracks it open.

The Chiss, Vanessa, holds up a lantern that reflects in her fiery eyes. Wash pulls back the door and lets her in his room. With two and sparse furniture, the room is crowded. Vanessa sets the lantern on the rickety table before facing him.

Wash had never seen a Chiss before. The people he’d grown up around either denied their existence or were adamant that they were out there somewhere in the galaxy when the word of planetwide glaciers took over their home. Wash had always loved the legend of the evolved human family but as he got older he noticed all the ways the species treated each other and learned whether you were connected millennia ago, it didn’t matter in the slightest.

The lantern outshines the glowstick bathing Vanessa in blue light. She had changed in the past few hours and Wash is jealous. Her new sandy robes and icy piping fit her perfectly. She looks more like a scholar than a rebel.

She studies him as he looks her over, but he has the feeling he is like a curious child and she was a scientist scrutinizing him like she would a strange insect.

Vanessa flicks her braid over her shoulder before crossing her arms, leaning against the table exactly as she did in the hologram room.

Wash speaks first. “Are you also Kimball? Tucker said they would come in the morning.”

Vanessa cocks an eyebrow, “It’s dawn.”

Maybe that cot was more comfortable than he thought. He can’t think of a way to sneak a glance at the holowatch, so he nods instead.

“Let’s cut to the point, Washington,” Kimball pushes off the table. It rocks slightly. “You don’t trust me, I can see it in your eyes and you look like you’re ready to run you get the chance. If it makes you feel better, I don’t trust you either. Doyle does and that’s why I think he’s an idiot. He’s too trusting.”

Wash blinks in surprise, remembering the Mon Calamari and his odd name. He could tell there was no lost love when she led him out of the hologram room. He wonders if he can get back in there and see what is was.

“He says he can trust you because I trusted the Reds and Blues, but a group of humans is a lot less suspicious than a lone one, especially in their circumstances.” Kimball smiles thinly, “I think he just wants a human on his side.”

“Reds and Blues?”

“I’m surprised they didn’t introduce themselves that way. They’re always broadcasting themselves like that. They’re the captains who brought you here and Sarge and a few others. You’ve met Captains Tucker, Caboose, Grif, and Simmons.”

Each flash through his mind, along with Tucker’s promise of food and a restroom.

“So,” she says, leaning back again. “Tell me what you’re doing here. And none of that bullshit you gave me earlier.”

Wash opens and closes his mouth in an excellent impression of a fish.

“I’m not an idiot, Washington. As the kids say these days: spill.”

He looks into her glowing eyes, but instead of scorching heat he sees a welcoming fire. That warmth is matched by the one growing on his wrist from Epsilon. He may have words with Epsilon later, but he still trusts him more than anyone else. If Epsilon trusts her, he does too. Or at least a little bit.

“I fled the Freelancer fleet three, four days ago.”

When her expression doesn’t change, he continues. “I found out they were working for the Empire.”

At this she raises her brows and gestures for him to go on. Perturbed, Wash shifts his feet. He expected some kind of reaction, like a gun to his head or something equally as likely.

“Freelancer was an experimental weapon program. They were trying to mimic the Jedi. Trying to make an artificial Force with artificial intelligence. An AI with a weapon the person could use without touching it. If you dropped your gun, the AI could fire it. It was… a bleak outlook, you could say.

“Some of the AI worked and others didn’t. They all had different personalities. One was even childish, he couldn’t hurt anything if he wanted too.” Sigma’s flame ignites it his mind, “Another was ambitious. It started influencing my friend. I don’t know what it did to his implant, but he changed.”

“Implant?”

Wash lifts his hand and strokes the raised skin at the base of his neck. Mud flakes off down his shirt. “If there’s any chance of Grey cutting me open please don’t tell her until I’m dead.”

Kimball snorts.

“My AI was damaged. I went to see him once and there was a red light on his storage. They didn’t tell me what was wrong,” he lies. He only found the light when he took Epsilon to escape.

“I stole a ship off the hanger and headed for Chorus. I was told it was a refugee planet and I could get a shuttle out of here to go somewhere else and get away from the Fleet and Empire. Obviously, that’s not happening.

“I didn’t think they’d follow me. I thought I had it all planned out. Some mouse droids went berserk and alerted them. The TIEs that crashed in the lake followed me here, but when I was in the woods more passed over. I saw two of them before I fell in Sarge’s trap. I think the third shot at us afterwards; the one who changed.”

Kimball nods, “We’re tracking them. No one else has come from off-planet.”

Wash nods absently. He was glad no one else was on Chorus. If Carolina or Texas were on planet, the little rebel base wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Go on,” Kimball says.

“That’s it.”

She shakes her head, “Why did you leave? If you knew what they were doing the whole time, then why just leave now? You sound like you were there for a while. And more importantly, why did you join in the first place? Trying to create a false Force seems sacrilegious.”

“Not everyone believes in the Jedi. They’re just children’s stories.”

“Like I’m supposed to be?” Wash shifts his feet and she continues, “I know what others say about my kind, Washington, we’d have to be blind and deaf not to know what people think of us.”

Wash shifts again. “My parents were executed when I was ten. They made me watch because I was the oldest. I was supposed to have reported them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago. My sisters and I were separated into different orphanages. When I was of age I joined Freelancer. They’d been recruiting in the system for a while and it didn’t seem like a bad thing.” Wash shrugs. “Get a bed and three meals a day while traveling the galaxy for testing some equipment that’s not going to work? It wasn’t a difficult decision.”

“But it did work.”

“Sometimes. Like I said, the AI were all different and had personalities. They did what they wanted when they wanted.”

“And when did they tell you they were going to put tech in your head?”

Wash shrugs. “When I signed up. They didn’t try to hide much.”

“So why did you leave?”

“I didn’t know Freelancer joined the Empire before it killed my parents. Some kid from the school I went to tattled on my parents for helping supply weapons to the rebel groups in our city. I never found out if the kid actually knew something or made it all up and got lucky. If I remember right his parents were Empire-sympathizers.

“But I didn’t know Freelancer was part of the Empire then. I signed up without knowing they were the ones who put me on the streets in the first place. I blamed the Empire and their supporters. They didn’t let us take anything with us when they took us to the orphanage. I guess I was lucky I got to say goodbye to my sisters. Don’t know what happened to them or the cat.

“My friend Connie was suspicious, but of course I didn’t listen to her. I didn’t learn about Freelancer and the Empire until after she died. I thought if they were creating the Force then they would be fighting the Empire, not fighting with it.” He gives Kimball a dry smile, “Shows you what I know.”

Kimball watches him, but he doesn’t mind as much this time, lost in thought. Only Epsilon knew what happened to his parents and sisters.

“Do the others know?”

“About what?”

“Your friends who followed you here, do they know Freelancer works for the Empire? Would they leave too?”

“I have no idea,” he says honestly, “Maybe York and North, but I don’t know if North would leave his sister behind.”

“She wouldn’t leave too?”

“I don’t know.”

Silence falls between them and Wash notices the lighting of his room. Morning light sneaks beneath the door but the lantern is still bright.

Kimball plays with the end of her braid. Wash doesn’t think she realizes she’s doing it as she twists it around her fingers, studying him.

“I’d rather die than admit this to him, but I think Doyle was right about you,” she says after a few minutes of quiet contemplation. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Does it involve getting off this planet?”

Kimball smiles a little, “Maybe.”

“I’m listening.”

“It’s pretty obvious we’re on this backwater planet. We don’t get news from the inner galaxy often-”

“So, you want me to be your spy?”

“More like an informant. I won’t make you go back to Freelancer because I don’t know what they’d do to you, but I can promise you a ride out of here if you help us.”

“And you trust me to tell you the truth? Betray my friends?”

“I won’t lie to you, Washington, I don’t trust you completely. In think you’re hiding something, but if what you said is true, and I’m usually a good judge of character with few exceptions, you left the Fleet and risked your life to do so makes you okay in my book. But I will have my eyes on you.”

There is no deception in her eyes, but he asks, “And how long will I have to stay here if I agree?”

“Help us take down Freelancer and you can go. It sounds pretty important to the Empire and if we can get it out of play then I think it will be a strong blow that will bring more to our cause.”

“And if I die while I’m here?”

Kimball smiles, “I’ll keep Grey away from your corpse.”

Wash sighs.

 

***

 

A young woman in muted red bring Wash a tunic and leggings but he keeps his own boots on and hopes they get scuffed so Sarge doesn’t steal them while he sleeps. The clothes are a bit too small so he keeps tugging his sleeves down.

He had been led to a cold shower and given food as well, some bland grain but it had filled him up well despite its mushy texture. His yellow cloth mask hangs around his neck and the matching goggles constantly tempt his fingers to play with them. He feels like a jeweled beetle.

Epsilon laughs at him.

“Ha! You look ridiculous.”

But the AI’s pixelated clothes also have a suspicious piece around his own neck. When Wash points it out, Epsilon gives him a rude gesture. Wash promises him again that they’re going to speak later about his lies, but Kimball wanted him to meet the Reds and Blues in the courtyard. From Wash’s understanding, they’re his new sitters.

A group of seven men stand around in a circle bickering loudly. As Wash gets closer, he recognizes their colors. He stands outside their circle until they notice him.

They fall quiet one by one until they’re all in a bubble of silence. Wash tugs on his sleeve.

Sarge is the first one to speak. He points around the group. “Ya know who I am of course! Colonel Sarge. Simmons, Lopez, Caboose, Tucker, and that moron there is Grif.”

“Hey!”

Lopez mutters under his breath and stomps away before Wash can say anything.

“I’m Washington. People call me Wash.”

_BOOM!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

_BOOM!_

Wash jumps, automatically reaching for a blaster not on his waist as something else explodes further in the distance. A dark cloud erupts above the tree lines a dozen kilometers out.  

Tucker stands on his toes, craning his neck to see over the crowd of people emerging from the buildings. Wash eyes he spare blaster bumping against his thigh. 

"What the hell was that?" 

Tucker, still on his toes, shrugs. "Maybe Jenson running something over, maybe Donut. Probably mercenaries or your friends."

"And you’re not concerned about that?" Wash says, ignoring the squeak in his voice. 

"They couldn't know where we are," Simmons says nervously. 

"Or could they?" Tucker shoots a look at Wash. 

"Men!" Sarge yells. "Whether it be Donut or Locus, we have to investigate! Onwards!" 

Simmons starts to follow him but Grif doesn't move until Simmons shoves him forward. 

Wash watches Tucker tilt his head to the side, his eyes focused and distant at the same time. Then he straightens. He looks around the crowded square at the people all suddenly just as frozen before they all scurry in different directions. 

Wash turns on Tucker. "What's going on?" he demands. If he was about to be attacked he wanted to know about it. 

Instead of answering, the other man unbuckles his one blaster holster and pushes it into Wash's hands. 

"Don't shoot anyone in the back with it, especially me," he says before gripping Caboose's arm and leading him away. Wash follows. 

Groups of different species gather and break off into others as Tucker leads them through the chaos. Controlled chaos, nonetheless. It looks more like a drill that's suddenly real. 

Cold determination to teary-eyed panic paints the faces of those rushing passed him, some running into his shoulders with weapons in hand. A pack of Jawas huddle in a doorway eyeing all the equipment being abandoned. 

Caboose is the only reason Wash doesn't get lost in the crowd, but he does fall behind. He keeps an eye on the tall man's dark hair as he makes his way closer. 

Tucker leads them back into the main building and into the hologram room. Unlike before, it stays lit when he enters. 

Kimball and Doyle point at opposite sides of the map of light. 

"No! Will you just listen? We could easily be cornered there!" 

Kimball gives him a glare that could melt stone. "If it was up to you we'd just bunker down in the cellars!"

Doyle opens his wide mouth, but Tucker interrupts. "You called?"

With the hologram on, it's reflection in Tucker's glowing eyes is surreal and Wash has to turn away to focus on Kimball's words. 

"You three need to go to the explosion site and run reconnaissance. Find what exploded, who exploded it, and why. Clear?"

Tucker raises a dark brow, "The three of us? Are you fucking with me?"

"I have my reasons, Captain Tucker, and they do not need to be privy to you. Go, take a speeder if you have to but be on the lookout for anything strange."

Wash is close enough to hear Tucker's "This entire Force-damned planet is strange" before Tucker is out the door again. Caboose slowly starts to follow but Wash hurries after him with only a halfhearted glance over his shoulder. 

He grabs Tucker's shoulder, surprised at the muscle he feels beneath the tunic, and spins him around only to face a death glare. 

"What?" Tucker snaps. 

"Where are we going?" 

"You heard Kimball. We're going to check out the explosions that will probably blow our faces off." He turns around. 

Wash spins him again. "Why?"

"Because we have to?"

"Okay I don't even know you and I know you are not the kind of person to do as you're told."

Tucker glares at him again and Wash wonders if that's all his face knows how to do. Someone bumps his shoulder. 

"Watch it Doc!" Tucker shouts at someone who disappears before Wash can catch a glimpse of them. 

"Why are we not preparing the square in case the explosions are a distraction? Where is everyone else going?"

"To prepare the square in case the explosions were a distraction," Tucker spits out. "Let go of me."

Wash does and follows Tucker. He can hear Caboose humming behind him in the mass of noise. 

He wishes Epsilon would appear and tell him what he found on their servers, but he wouldn't dare ask let alone in a crowded hallway. 

It feels like Tucker marches them half way across the camp to the hanger, if one could call it that. People seem to manage the aircraft and spacecraft the same way they manage their buildings: some look safe and others Wash doesn't want to fly in. One being the little green speeder Tucker leads them too. Wash isn't confident it could fly empty let alone with the two of them and Caboose. 

"You're kidding right?" He asks when Tucker and Caboose jump in. The metal groans against the floor. 

"I have never kidded about anything ever." Tucker says, starting up the speeder. It shudders and then starts to rise. And then falls. 

It only drops a few inches and Tucker slaps it with the palm of his hand, muttering. It starts to rise again. 

"Are you getting in or not?"

"It's so much fun, Washingtub! It's like a ride for your stomach," Caboose shouts over the noise of the hanger. 

"It's not washing tub, stupid. It's Washington. Now start crying or something so he'll get in and Kimball won't demote me."

It's scary how fast the tears work their way into his eyes. Wash groans but climbs in anyway because if Caboose's crying is anything like his emerging sniffles, Wash is sure to get an ear ache. 

His teeth start to chatter as Tucker maneuvers the speeder through the people and to the hanger opening which is more like a giant cloth than door. 

Tucker exchanges a few words with a guard near the opening and they're off with Caboose turning around to wave. A droid beeps back. 

The wind blows Wash's hair back and understands the face gaiter and goggles everyone wears. He never imagined wearing them in the forest, but the tiny little insects flying into his eyes are nearly as bad as sand. 

Although he knows it doesn't matter, it bothers him his gaiter is a used, dirty yellow and his goggle's strap is wearing thin as he tugs them on without rocking the speeder too much. 

Caboose chatters away happily behind his blue face mask despite neither Tucker or Wash hearing a single word over the air rushing through their ears. 

The speeder tilts dangerously every time Tucker slightly steers the yoke. Wash grips the back of their seats as they fly low. He's thankful there are at least some clear paths and they don't have to duck beneath branches and vines. 

Until they do. Wash can tell Tucker's trying his best, but the speeder is too fast and long to dodge between trees and the foliage keeps scraping against the bottom. Bumping a log, a little too long nearly throws Wash from his seat. He understands how this is a ride for the stomach. 

When they nearly get stuck between two trees, Tucker finally gives up. Wash takes his time getting out of the vehicle, letting his stomach and other organs settle back into place while resting a hand on a tree. 

He waves away a concerned Caboose as he asks Tucker, "How far are we?"

"About a kilometer that way."

They trudge through the forest undergrowth. It must have rained recently because every time Tucker lets a branch fly back into Wash's face, cold water sprays off. He holds the branches away for Caboose to make a point. 

The smell of smoke starts to reach them and then the crackling of flames. 

"Shit, shit, shit, _shit_!" Tucker starts running through the ash covering the ground. 

Wash and Caboose hurry after him. The ash and smoke get thicker. Embers and flames start to appear on the foliage around them. When Wash breaks through to a clearing, Tucker is already standing frozen, hands on his head. 

Fire licks the edges of a burned-out frame of a building. Or what could've been a building. It's more of a steel hut or was. 

Tucker's hands droop as they take in the starburst radiating from the building, black as night. From his spot, Wash can see Tucker's eyes gleaming with tears or rage. 

He tugs Caboose aside. "What is this place?"

Caboose whispers back, much too loud for Wash's taste. "It's Tucker's old house."

" _Shut up, Caboose_." Tucker snaps, turning on them. His eyes glow nearly as much as Kimball's. 

Tucker stomps toward them and shoves Wash. Wash stumbles back. 

"Is this because of you? Are these your friends? Burning fucking houses down?" 

"Hey-"

"Did you lead them here?!"

"I don't even know where here is!" Wash shouts back. 

Tucker takes a step toward him anyway, fingers twitching for his blaster. 

"Tucker!" A joyful voice calls out. 

They all spin toward the voice. An Epicanthix in all orange jumps from a boulder, landing steadily on his feet. Tucker raises his blaster, Wash and Caboose copying him. 

"Didn't your mother ever teach you to play nice?" The Epicanthix says, seemingly unbothered by the guns pointed at his head. 

Tucker's blaster goes off, barely missing the Epicanthix's ear. 

"Do you ever fuck off?" Tucker shouts. 

"All the time," the Epicanthix says. Wash warily watches the guns swinging from his hips. "How's Kimball doing?"

Tucker wastes another blast at the Epicanthix's feet. He tsks. 

"Well that's rude. Thought you'd have better aim than that, you know, with you being you. Aren't you supposed to be able to do anything?"

Another blaster shot fires but not from Tucker, but Caboose. The bigger man's eyes narrowed angrily. 

"Hello Caboose. Who's your new friend?"

Caboose doesn't answer. Wash steadily aims his gun at Epsilon's probing heat. 

"Wouldn't do that buddy," the Epicanthix pulls out a metallic tube. He holds it out to his side and a green tube of light shoots out. 

The Epicanthix looks at the lightsaber sadly. "Damn. This is my least favorite one."

Wash's brain short circuits like a broken droid at the sight of a second lightsaber. He'd never heard of one still existence. They all seemed to disappear from the temple's or never really existed at all. 

The new saber's purple light springs out and Wash doesn't know what to do against a saber and multiple blasters. He slides a foot back in the mud. 

The Epicanthix rambles on. "It's so hard to find a good one these days. The market isn't really that good lately. It's a bitch to get one for a good price without any blood on it. Everyone thinks Jedi blood is still so valuable like they can get the magic out of it. Honestly the real ones are the suckers who pay for it."

He looks directly at Wash as he says it, like Wash didn't know Freelancer's quest was hopeless. 

Him knowing to look at Wash disturbs him much, much more. 

Wash steps slightly behind Caboose as the Epicanthix continues, sliding his blaster back into its holster. The Epicanthix spins the lightsaber causing the purple light to drag through the air. 

Wash tugs on Caboose's tunic. "What I say three, run back to the speeder," he says quietly beneath the Epicanthix's monologue. 

He's impressed by Caboose's discreet nod. Tucker is another story. 

The man's knuckles pale around the blaster as Wash edges closer. He gets a grip around one of the straps of Tucker's knapsack. The man stiffens. 

"Three!" Wash yells. He pulls Tucker backwards until he turns around and starts sprinting on his own. Caboose is already disappearing through the tree line. 

"Oh, come on!" The Epicanthix shouts after them. "I was talking!"

They plow through the undergrowth trying to get back to the speeder. Wash can’t hear the Epicanthix following them, but he has long since learned that that didn’t mean anything.

Tucker flies through the foliage, hopping over logs like he was born to do it while Wash stumbles through. The Fleet’s obstacle courses never had dips in the floor or tree roots threatening to make him eat the dirt.

Caboose already has the speeder in the air. Wash dives in after Tucker and they’re flying through the trees again. Wash snaps on his goggles but leaves his gaiter down to catch his breath.

“Who the hell was that?” He bellows over the wind.

Tucker glares ahead as the ground blurs beneath them. Wash almost asks again when Tucker shouts back.

“That’s Felix. The biggest asshole in the entire galaxy.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws this at you*

Tucker marches them both to Kimball’s war room when they get back to base. Wash was getting a bit tired of following him around. He takes a deep breath before entering the room, remembering Kimball’s deal.

“Felix is back,” he starts without introduction.

Kimball stares at the three of them. Wash shifts uncomfortably under her gaze. Their talk may have made them allies, but she could still end up executing him. Wash looks away and studies the multiple knots in Caboose’s laces.

“Excuse me?” Kimball says, her voice like ice.

“Felix. Is. Back.” Tucker repeats slowly. Wash is sure if Kimball was capable, she would smite Tucker where he stands. His grip on his blaster has been tight since they left the speeder behind by abandoned building a few kilometers out.

“He set off the explosion. He knew one of us would come.”

Wash jumps as Kimball’s hand slaps the table, scattering important looking papers to the floor. Caboose bends and starts picking them up. Wash isn’t that brave. Instead he focuses on the hot air between the captain and general.

Their glowing eyes nearly spark a flame in the room. He wonders at their history; what they went through to form the kind of bond where they could communicate without words.

“Kimball. He had more than one lightsaber.”

The look they share makes Wash look away, like he’s intruding on something private but not intimate. Caboose is trying to stack the papers next to Kimball and Wash marvels at his ignorance of the moment.

When Felix had looked at him when he talked about Jedi blood, he was shocked that the Epicanthix knew too. Freelancer hadn’t necessarily worked with blood. They worked with biotech and Kyber crystals. That was why they fought Insurrectionists, a large group of rebels just as eager to get the precious materials as Freelancer.

He remembered the fury in the Director’s face when the prototype lightsaber lasted about ten seconds before it faltered. However lightsabers were made, it was now a lost art. They’d kill to have the two this Felix had.

“I have an idea.”

Tucker spins on his heel and Kimball raises a questioning eyebrow. Wash quickly flickers his eyes to Tucker and then back to Kimball.

“Tucker, Caboose- leave.”

“What?”

“Okay!”

“No. Caboose, come back here. What can’t you say in front of us?” Tucker glares between the two of them. Wash shakes his head when Tucker’s eyes seem to glow brighter. “Kimball?”

“That’s an order, Captain Tucker.”

Wash watches the younger man huff and stomp out of the room with Caboose at his heels. The door slides shut and suddenly Wash isn’t as confident.

“Washington?”

He swallows. “What if we kill two Endorian chickens with one stone?”

“Explain.”

“You said you wanted to get rid of Freelancer, and obviously this Felix guy is a problem. We know that Freelancer wants to create new Jedis, but their problem is they can’t get the tech right, and if Felix has these sabers-”

“We could direct their attentions at each other while we figure out another plan.”

“Exactly.”

Wash swears her lips almost twitch.

“I have a meeting in five minutes,” she says, gathering up the rest of her fallen papers, “I want you to tell Tucker that I want you two to go to the sector E temple tonight. Leave at midnight, and if you have any problems, send him to me.”

“…Are you sure you don’t want to tell him that? I don’t think he likes me much.”

“He’s an adult, and so are you, Washington. I’ll set up a meeting for us and Doyle in the next few days. One of our soldiers isn’t here right now, but she’ll help you carry out the plan. Good luck tonight.”

“Thanks,” he mutters after she’s gone. “I’m going to need it.”

“Oh, don’t be a baby, Wash,” Epsilon says, walking the length of the table. “He’s like five inches shorter than you, you could take him.”

Rolling his eyes, Wash sits in one of the chairs. Epsilon stops in front of him. “That’s not the problem, E. The problem is I don’t want to spend the night in some temple with someone who looks like he _wants_ to murder me. If he’s capable of it or not doesn’t matter.”

Epsilon tilts his head.

“What?” Wash snaps when he doesn’t speak.

“I’m trying to calculate the possibility of that speeder scrambling your brains because that made no fucking sense. Even I felt nauseous during that.”

Wash rolls his eyes again. When his stomach rumbles, he stands. “Come on, I’m hungry.”

 

***

 

It was a fight to get Tucker to go to the temple with him but with the Kimball card, it didn’t take as long as Wash dreaded.

He had received multiple, creative death threats from the other man, but he had kept his blaster at his side, so he figured he was safe if he had Kimball’s protection.

Wash suspects Tucker’s revenge is taking the green speeder again. It’s slightly better in the front passenger seat, but not by much. Neither man speaks a word as they head east toward the temple. When Wash asks exactly what the temple is, Tucker gives him a rude gesture that Wash refuses to return as to not go down to his level.

He nearly tosses the holowatch out the side when it heats up in sporadic bursts that he knows is Epsilon’s laughter and appreciation.

Instead Wash struggles to not cross his arms and look like a child. Gripping his blaster, he tries to look ahead and spot anything but vines and trees. He finds it amazing that three days ago he was sleeping on the forest ground, hungry and lost, and now he almost prefers that to only the wind rushing in his ears.

 The speeder suddenly lurches into a stop. Wash looks around for a tree or a temple that made them stop.

“What?” He asks Tucker.

“We have to walk from here.”

He stares at Wash, waiting for him to argue. Swallowing a retort, he jumps over the side and lands in watery moss. Thinking of Sarge, he notices his boots repel the water while Tucker’s start squishing in the water almost immediately. Wash hopes it isn’t too noticeable.

They walk a few meters in silence before Epsilon starts heating up his wrist. Falling slightly behind Tucker, Wash brings his watch up to his nose.

_Something’s not right_

He just finishes the text when Tucker yelps and disappears.

“Tucker!”

Wash scrambles forward to the dark pit that replaced Tucker. The man lays six three meters down, on his back, unmoving.

“Tucker?” Wash calls down. No response.

“Shit.” Epsilon says, peeking over the pit’s edge.

Wash looks at the vines around them until finding the thickest and sawing through it with his knife. Epsilon vanishes but a blue light starts glowing from where Tucker lays.

“Well,” Epsilon shouts, “he’s alive.”

Letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding tight, Wash finishes looping the vine around a thick tree. He tugs on it and when it stays strong, he drops it into the pit. The sun is starting to set and now Tucker is stuck in a hole.

 _You better appreciate this_ , he thinks before jumping in.

He stumbles, nearly falling on Tucker, but manages to grab the vine, thankfully it holds. When he regains his balance, he kneels and observes Tucker in E’s glow.

Tucker’s chest barely rises under the layers of tunics he wears against the cold night. Wash does a quick sweep of his head, finding nothing amiss, but when he reaches his torso, he freezes.

A branch the width of his thumb protrudes through Tucker, hidden beneath the fabrics.

Wash carefully lifts the layers and beckons Epsilon closer. He hopes the dim light is what making the wound look worse than it is, but he knows it’s not. His hands start to shake.

He wasn’t a medic. He could handle his own blood being drawn, not other people bleeding on a forest floor nearing midnight.

“Epsilon? I need you to call the base. Use Tucker’s earpiece and disguise your voice as me, like we’ve done before.”

It’s a mark of the seriousness of the situation that Epsilon listens without a word. Blue glows around Tucker’s head and Wash is relieved he can’t see the wood emerging from skin.

Tucker’s eyes twitch in the light and Wash prays he doesn’t wake up.

Epsilon reemerges. “They’re on their way. ETA about an hour.”

_“An hour?”_

“They said they couldn’t track us and since it’s fucking pitch black out…”

Figures.

“What is that?”

Both freeze at Tucker’s groggy voice under them. He’s staring at Epsilon, his eyes narrow. Even in this light Wash can tell he’s not all there.

Wash presses lightly on Tucker’s head and Tucker lets him. “You fell in a pit. Help’s coming.” A thought occurs to him. “Can you not feel that?”

“Feel what?”

Wash glances at Epsilon, who seems to be standing as still as possible. He turns back to Tucker, biting his lip. “Can you move your toes?”

Horror spreads across his face like a wave. “Tucker! Just wait, it could mean nothing-”

“Oh, bullshit! I can’t feel my toes!”

Tucker tries to sit up, but Wash holds him down. “Listen to me. I don’t know shit about medical things, but I know you have to stay still, got it? Or you could make things much, much worse.”

His strange eyes flicker between Wash’s plain ones. There’s still panic, but Tucker leans back and takes a few quick breaths. He meets Wash’s eyes a few more times before looking at Epsilon. Wash supposes it couldn’t last forever. He’s honestly surprised they made it this far along with no one finding out about the AI.

Wash tugs his own extra tunic around him (he suspects it’s Caboose’s) and waits for Tucker’s questions.

They don’t come for another ten minutes. Wash watches the man and AI study each other. He debates about climbing out of the pit to maybe set up a flare, but at the panic in Tucker’s face when he suggests it keeps Wash with him.

How odd that the man who hates him is at his mercy. _What a day_ , he thinks sarcastically. First explosions and now pits.

The longer he looks around, the more unnatural the hole is. The sides are too even, and it’s far too round too not be made by a sentient being. He doesn’t mention it but hopes the rescue crew would get to them first.

When Tucker asks for his story, he gives him the same spiel he gave Kimball except adding that Epsilon came from Freelancer too. He expects the man to jump up somehow despite his injury and shoot Wash with his blaster, but he just squints suspiciously and lets the silence take the place of words.

Insects draw into Epsilon’s light, but he doesn’t go away and neither Wash or Tucker ask him to.

Five minutes after Tucker falls quiet, Wash asks him a question.

“What is this temple?”

Tucker twists his head to face him, a dread falling across his forehead, “Are you prepared for this? It’s a Jedi temple.”

Wash cocks an eyebrow. “Funny.”

“I’m serious,” he says, no amusement on his face, “I don’t know why the hell they’d have one out here in the galaxy’s ass, but they did. Kimball and Doyle think it’s where Felix gets his sabers.”

“And they’ve never searched it before?”

A shadow passes over Tucker’s eyes and seems to think hard before answering slowly, “Like you said, people think they’re stories. Ghost stories, legends, myths. People don’t like to explore them. They’re creepy as hell.”

“You’ve been in one?” Wash asks, surprised.

Tucker nods. “They’re empty. Not like they’ve been looted but like they never had much. There’s chairs and tables and that’s about it. There’s some clothes and some scrolls, but they’re all pretty much gone.”

Insect buzzing fills the air again as they both chew on this. Wash subtly looks at Tucker. He looks a million kilometers away, and strangely serious opposed to his usual scowl.

“Then why do you think that’s where Felix got his lightsabers?”

Tucker starts to shrug and then stops. “I mean, where else would he get them?”

Wash doesn’t have answer for that.

“My turn,” Tucker says. “If the Jedi are a story, then where do lightsabers come from? And you can’t say they don’t exist because you saw _two_ today.”

He doesn’t have an answer for that either.

He’s about to change the subject when a sweeping beam passes above them. Wash stands carefully, listening.

“Oh, I am so excited! I haven’t had a surgery like this for a long time!”

Wash lets out a sigh as relief floods over him at Grey’s voice. Epsilon fades his light as the group gets closer.

“It’s your decision, E.”

Because it is. Wash knew how much Epsilon hated working for Freelancer, never getting a choice at what he had to do, what he had to see and remember for the rest of his life. Wash understood that feeling. Of feeling trapped. Helpless.

When his light disappears, he understands that too.

“Hello!” Grey chirps, shining the light in his eyes. “Oops, sorry!”

Wash waves her apology away and turns back to Tucker, who looks stricken.

“What is it?” he asks worriedly.

“Please don’t let her take me.”

Wash cracks a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been busy and also in a writing slump, so thank you for sticking with me and my lame updating schedule. The story is starting to pick up so it will start getting more exciting in the next few chapters. Hopefully.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Red vs Blue or Star Wars. I did smoosh them together though and made up my own rules. ZaliaChimera's In Hope's Shadow got me thinking and this is what happened. Check out their fic!


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